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Blackest Midnight

Summary:
What if Bella hadn't been a shy, insecure wuss when she came to Forks? What if she had attitude, spunk, and was brave? What if she were Goth? This is yet another of my random musings, where I mess with a character and such. I never really liked Bella (mostly out of jealousy than anything else :D) but I was reading another favorite of mine Vampire Kisses (I highly reccomend it) and thought, what if Bella were more like Raven? And then I got this.


Notes:


1. Chapter One

Rating 5/5   Word Count 2544   Review this Chapter

I brought my truck to a stop in the parking lot, pulling the key from the ignition and putting it safely in my backpack. I stepped out into the chilly morning air, walking briskly to a building with a sign that dubbed it “FRONT OFFICE”.

Inside it was pleasantly warm, and I stepped up to the counter where a woman was rifling through piles and piles of papers. She seemed to not notice my presence, so I cleared my throat. She looked up abruptly, her eyes widening in surprise.

I pulled the ear bud from just my right ear, so that the music continued in the left, but I could still hear the woman. “I’m Isabella Swan,” I announced, and recognition struck her features. She rifled around in her papers some more, before producing a packet with papers of several different colors, with a yellow map on the front.

I wondered if maybe she would tell me how to get to my classes, but she didn’t. She surveyed me up and down, taking in my spiky hair, dark make-up, and purposefully ripped and safety-pinned clothing. In defiance, I tilted my chin up and narrowed my eyes, giving her a black glare. “Thanks,” I said tactlessly, before turning on my heel and striding from the office.

In the courtyard, students had already started to arrive, and they stood in clusters around the entrance. I made a beeline for a collection of deserted picnic tables, where I sat on my raincoat to keep my clothes dry, and flipped through the packet of papers.

It was fairly basic, and my boredom increased as I skimmed through the classes and forms, tapping one black-painted fingernail on the wooden table. I yawned hugely, then located my first class on the map and the direction I would have to go to get to it. With a heavy sigh, I closed the packet and looked around me.

Several people were glancing my way and whispering amongst themselves, and I could almost guess what they were saying. I was the new girl – a freak among freaks. Not only was I new, but I was different. Everyone here dressed conservatively, wearing similar huge raincoats and plain jeans and sneakers. Some wore make-up, some did not – but none of them had black lipstick and nail polish.

I had picked the perfect outfit for social discrimination today as well – fishnet arm socks, a black pleated skirt with criss-cross chains with metal skulls, and a black t-shirt that had rips and tears and multiple safety pins. My backpack was a grey patchwork affair, with lime green accents and a bright orange tag that read “Parcel III : New York” Safety pinned to it, I had a t-shirt clipping that said “SCHOOL BITES” in crimson letters, with red vampire bite marks.

As I lounged conspicuously against the picnic table, not really caring what everyone was possibly whispering about me, iPod blaring my favorite songs, I saw a flashy silver Volvo pull into the lot. Immediately my attention was grabbed by this vehicle that stood out in a sea of unsightly rust-buckets. It parked farthest from the school, and five students emerged from within it.

At first, I assumed them to be like everyone else – conformed and nondescript – but I soon came to realize that this was not the case. They all looked different – different from each other, and different from everyone else at the same time. And most of all, they looked gorgeous.

There were two girls and three boys in the little posse – a girl with spiky black hair and a style that screamed “Paris Runway”, and another with long, curling blonde locks and the appearance of a model from Sports Illustrated, Swimsuit Edition. Of the three boys, one was buff, with large, over-exaggerated muscles. The second was thin and lanky, with a messy disarray of blonde hair that matched the Swimsuit model girl – maybe they were twins. And then there was the last boy – possibly the most handsome of all. He was tall – not as tall as the blonde boy, but definitely taller than me (though that wasn’t saying much; I’m only about five three) – with a strange shade of red hair that was almost bronze, but more fiery.

Although they were different to the untrained eye, they were all startlingly similar if you looked closely. They were all startlingly pale – paler than me even, and I purposefully applied the highest SPF sunscreen that I could get my hands on, even in this cloudy, overcast town. And they all had the same strange eye color – a startling, flat black. Not dark brown, black. Black like my skirt. Black like my combat boots. Black like the blackest midnight ever imaginable.

As I studied them, the gorgeous boy looked up at me. He wore a slightly amused expression, as if he were mocking me.

Anger flared within me, and I glared over at him. Of course, I thought dumbly. Of course they thought exactly what everyone else at this close-minded school thought – that I was a freak, someone to be laughed and jeered at. Not worthy of getting to know – oh, of course not. They can all burn in hell, I thought sardonically.

The bell rang, and I jumped up from my seat, stalking across the campus like a wraith. I purposefully walked by the flashy family, just out of spite. The brawny one gave me a strange look, and the blonde girl huffed in disapproval. Screw them, I thought.

My first class was uneventful, just my teacher forcing me to introduce myself to the class and listening as people giggled and scoffed at me when I told them my name and where I transferred from. What? You can’t live in Phoenix and be Goth?

The second, third and fourth classes proceeded in a likewise fashion. It wasn’t until fifth period that I finally found my reprieve in art class. There I wasn’t so different. People regarded me as another person, and not some freak of nature. The black-haired girl with black eyes was in my class, and the whole time, she seemed to be watching me with a confused, yet expectant expression. She didn’t seem so bad, not as judgmental as the rest of her friends seemed. She didn’t talk to anyone either, and I soon came to realize that her and her group didn’t speak with much of anyone.

The bell rang once more, and I closed my sketchbook and stuffed it in my bag. I was ready to finally get to lunch, and prepared myself to flee the constricting classroom. Stuffing my ear buds into my ears, I turned on my iPod and was about to press play from where I had left off when someone suddenly appeared in front of me. I looked up – finger poised over the play button.

“Hey, you’re Bella, right?” The black-haired girl stood before me, about eye level.

“Yep, that’s me,” I replied, surprised that she had been the first one to get my name right. She smiled a warm smile in response, one of the first to welcome me to this cold – in more ways than one – town.

“I love your skirt,” she exclaimed. I was taken aback – no one ever liked my clothes.

“Thanks,” I said, out of character.

“Headed to lunch?” She asked, though she sounded like she already knew.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Well, c’mon – I’ll walk you.” She grabbed my hand with abrupt familiarity, dragging me towards the cafeteria. “My name’s Alice, by the way,” she said over her shoulder.

As we stood in line to buy food, she gushed about her love of fashion and how she “just had to know where I got my bag”, how she loved reading horror (I could really get animated on that topic), and a lot of other babble that turned incoherent after a while.

“I jus know we’re gonna be friends, Bella. I can see it.” She seemed to enjoy a little personal joke that I couldn’t begin to understand.

At that point, we had already bought out food (she had offered to pay for mine since my account hadn’t yet been transferred from Phoenix, and I hadn’t thought to bring cash of my own), and she was leading me over to a table in the corner where her friends from this morning sat.

As we approached, they all looked up at once and scrutinized me. I kept my chin up, not revealing my self-consciousness. The blonde girl glared at me – as I knew she would – and the red-haired boy looked at me with a confused expression.

“Everyone, this is Bella Swan, my new friend. Bella, this is Rosalie,” she pointed out the blonde girl with turned up her nose in disgust, “Emmett and Jasper,” she signaled to the blonde boy and the muscular hunk, whom Rosalie threw her arm around protectively, “and Edward,” she finally settled on the red-haired dream boat.

Alice made a move to sit down beside Jasper at one end of the table, but suddenly paused and looked at me. The only open seat was beside Rosalie, and I was not about to sit next to her.

“There’s no room,” Rosalie snarled (she actually snarled), throwing her pink back-pack on the open seat.

“C’mon, Rose,” Alice pleaded. “She’s my friend, and she’s new.”

“There aren’t any open seats,” Rosalie said through her teeth.

Alice stood up in a fury, slamming her palm against the table, which groaned in reply. “Why do you have to be such a bitch?” She screamed angrily. Picking up her bag from the floor where she had set it, Alice stormed over to me and grabbed my wrist. “C’mon, Bella – we’ll sit somewhere else.”

We found a seat on the opposite side of the cafeteria, and Alice’s mood seemed to shift yet again, and soon she was babbling excitedly once more. We talked about music (her favorite band was Muse, and mine was Escape the Fate), books (her favorite book was Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin and mine was Vampire Kisses by Ellen Schreiber), movies (hers was The Notebook and mine was 30 Days of Night) and hobbies.

“I just love designing clothes,” she gushed, opening her bag and pulling out a sketchbook to show me. I flipped through the pages, nodding in approval at her creativity. Her sketches were beautiful, and the clothes looked like they belonged on a Paris runway. “What do you do in your spare time?” She asked me after taking her book back.

I told her about my creativity, how I wrote in my spare time and designed clothes as well. I told her about a book called Generation T that I found at a craft store, and how I recycled old t-shirts and made new ones.

When I was done with my lunch (Alice hadn’t touched hers) we got up and dumped our trays before going outside in the crisp air. It wasn’t quite cold, but a comfortable temperature, almost fall-like, even though it was January.

“What class do you have next?” I showed her my schedule, and she nodded and pointed the way I would have to go. “My brother, Edward, has that class next, too.”

“Great,” I said, though I wasn’t thrilled at all. Edward had treated me just like his sister had (maybe not as rudely), and I wasn’t at all sure that he would change his ways in Biology.

The bell rang, and Alice said goodbye, pointing out my route yet again, and then turned and walked to her class on the opposite side of campus. I trudged through the mud to building three (the school was compiled of small house-like buildings instead of one huge building with little rooms like mostschools).

Once inside, I handed the teacher my pink slip to sign, and then made my way to the back of the room where he indicated the only open seat – beside Edward nonetheless. Of course, I was just thrilled.

As I was walking down the aisle to the back of the room, dodging glances from classmates who pointed and giggled, a sudden breeze blew around the room as the automatic heater turned on (one of those periodic on-off types). Suddenly, Edward’s head snapped up, and he glared at me with revulsion.

This took me off guard – I knew he didn’t like me, but this was a little much. The phrase if looks could kill ran through my mind, and I was sure that he was pointing daggers at me with his black eyes.

I sat down beside him, ignoring his glare and pulling out my binder. I took notes on the teacher’s lesson, keeping my head down. I was, however, aware of his glare as he looked down at me with that murderous gaze, and the small screeching sound that his chair made as he inched backwards every few seconds.

The teacher ended class early then, giving us five minutes of free time to do with what we pleased. I closed my binder and stuffed it back in my bag, standing so that I could be prepared to fly from the classroom like a bat out of hell as soon as the bell rang – even though I knew full well I had five minutes before that happened.

Edward was still glaring up at me rudely, and, out of spite, I glared back at him just as darkly. He seemed taken aback by my sudden fierceness – what, did he expect me to start crying just because he didn’t like me? Puh-lease.

The bell rang then, I prepared to flee the classroom. I stopped just outside the door, however, and spun around to face him, blocking his exit.

“What’s your problem?” I asked angrily, glaring up at him. His nostrils flared, and he said nothing, just pushed me aside and stalked off into the parking lot. Humph. I stalked off to my final destination – the torture that was gym class.

Once that was over (I wasn’t forced to participate today, thankfully), I headed back to my truck and drove home to Charlie’s house. He wasn’t home (as I had assumed) and so I grabbed the money from the cabinet specifically for grocery shopping, and headed to the store Charlie had told me about this morning.

That night I slept restlessly, the image of Edward Cullen’s black stare in my mind the whole night. I woke up often, and ended up with a massive headache as a result that morning.